


Because it is Bitter, and Because it is my Heart

by betterrecieved



Category: Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betterrecieved/pseuds/betterrecieved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for venomedveins, who prompted Agron being shy about Nasir leaving scratch-marks on him in Men of Honor. </p><p>Please pardon all mistakes, this is unbeta'd!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because it is Bitter, and Because it is my Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Let’s pretend Nagron’s window in they bedroom isn’t boarded over like a crack-house ok? And that Agron had clearly visible scratch marks during/the morning after Men of Honor…

Agron awakens from heavy sated slumber to this:

Personification of love, his beating heart itself sitting up beside him in bed.

Thigh warm as nestled litter of kittens pressed to Agrons’ side.

Beautiful face alight in watery dimness of dawn, outshining straining sunbeams.

Nasir’s fingertips stroking his own neck, worshiping bruises from Agron’s hands, from Agron’s teeth. 

Their gazes meet, half shy, half proud, all loving, all remembrance of unsettling desperation of last night:

Agron never quite so starving (to possess, to have and keep and mine, mine, all of you is fucking mine) Nasir never quite so hungry (to be taken, to be held down and held tight, to scratch and sigh and scream it, and yes, and yes, and yes, and _Agron_ ).

And Agron seizes Nasir, and Nasir melts, and melts Agron, and they kiss and kiss and kiss until ever-dutiful Nasir pushes his palm against Agron’s chest.

Agron grumbles when they must pull apart to dress, tugging and tightening armor, eyes at half-mast, for they have barely slept. “Fucking pirates.  I would sooner make deal with Gaul.  Morning air is chilled. You must cover yourself with cloak. Pity.”

Nasir laughs while Agron smiles down at his neck with expression of strutting cock in hen-house.

(Nasir will never fit Agron like glove, will never not need to hold his hand and claw his flesh, mind adrift, body seized with every feeling under sun at once.)

“Evidence of your passion will linger long past morning for all to see.” And as it is, lingering soreness in Nasir’s body elicits ghost of pain with every movement, with every urge to crane his neck for a kiss, and this morning he cannot for any length of time stop kissing his Agron.

(Agron will never sink into Nasir’s body as sword glides slickly into hilt, will never not need to hold his big body tortuously aloft, spilling praises edged with sharp tooth grazes, bigger hands holding Nasir’s big fist, anchoring comfort like silent prayer answered.)

“Yet marks upon your skin will vanish from sight all too soon.  Will your promise to me fade from memory as well?”

Agron kisses him like tide kisses coastline, overwhelming, soaking through him, retreating to stand over him staring down with soft eyes holding promise of sudden violent storm. 

“Never.” 

And Agron, so greedy for Nasir, so seldom satisfied (and how can Agron be satisfied when he cannot simply swallow Nasir up as Saturn swallowed his sons, holding Nasir’s beating heart within himself?). 

Agron can only breathe in, breathe out. 

This vow, spoken in voice soft yet fervent, is all Agron can have now; the future cannot stream past his eyes all at once in reassuring vision.

Agron looks down on Nasir (Nasir of the huge fervent green-brown eyes trembling up at him.  Nasir of the slender frame, of round face soft as down when in repose. Nasir of the thousand days without Duro.  Nasir of Agron’s smallest nagging fears transformed into raging beast, jaws snapping.), takes vow and holds it within his hammering heart.

When they walk through slowly lightening pathway of Sinuessa, Nasir stops short, pulling Agron’s arm.  Agron feels the pull, turns to defend his heart, but his heart only stares until Agron follows his gaze to livid red welts decorating Agron’s thighs, his forearms.

“I have caused you injury,” Nasir sighs.  He does not recall sinking fingernails into Agron’s skin; he never does.  He knows only that when Agron is filling him he is aloft, drifting away from sense: He must hold on tightly to Agron until he is pulled back, pulled in, pulled down to safety of terra firma. 

Look of regret upon Nasir’s face is unbearable and sky lightens two shades more while Agron kisses him calmer.

Then, standing there in alley, lip still moist with Nasir’s spit, clarity of  Gladiator crouching battle-ready upon bloodied sands pierces Agron:

I. Foreknowledge of his adversary’s best strength (dark knowing eyes, appraisal instantaneous while Nasir slowly drops his wide, bright smile).

II. Coldly critical assessment of own weakness in face of particular opponent (the scrabbling blind panic at possibility of Nasir being taken from him also, at terrifying thought of Nasir having another man as his man).

Fucking Cilician will see how Nasir clawed at him, and smirking little shit will _know._  

Nasir frowns up at Agron, seeing only hard blankness in eyes of man whose face he reads like map to entirety of known world. (This man’s whole body is Nasir’s map, mountains of hard muscle pressing against him in most deeply penetrating moment of endless sensuous night).

“Agron. Agron!”

“It is all right,” Agron quickly reassures, knowing that never mind howling wind, driving rain, or pressing Roman legion, his mood is Nasir’s bellwether. 

When Spartacus commands Nasir to perch upon wall as lookout, Agron projects jaunty confidence, leaves Nasir with kiss, with promise to soon return, while Nasir pleads and pleads without words.

(Agron’s bellwether: Does Nasir smile? Do tears spring to his eyes?  I must know his heart before I proceed, for thumping within his chest determines my path; I will do nothing until I have lessened fear with kiss.  Yes, I leave him here with his worry rather than have him there with Cilician: I am selfish with love, for he is my self: I am a _Gladiator_ , I _leap_ upon openings.)

Pirate gazes ironically at Agron across roaring bonfire. He _does_ know.

And Agron’s heart is everywhere at once: here upon beach, ready to die for Nasir,  there upon wall, to live for Agron.

(Agron cannot have this now either: One day, months later, when they are older, much older, Agron will laugh to himself as they stride down endless mountain path, watching Nasir smile at everything, at nothing, all the world now within his grasp, and choosing Agron’s path above all.)

And swords are drawn, and fire rains down, and Agron can only gape up into sky (this whole wide terrible wonderful world will never not leave him reeling) and Nasir’s claim upon him begins to sting (unbearably, deliciously, from his sweat and merciless sea-salt air) and Agron crushes down ridiculous shame with every blow to Roman soldier foe.

When Agron awakens, standing dazed within gate of city, first thing he sees is his heart running to him brighter than anything thrown down alight from heavens.

And Agron does not think of Castus for _days_ , and for a man who _needs_ like Agron needs, that is a long time.


End file.
